


A Simple Bath

by thegreatwordologist



Category: Lincoln Rhyme
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things that are better now than they ever were before the accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Bath

It had taken a while for Lincoln to accept Amelia's help in ways other than crime scene work. But one night, she was there as Thom bathed him, and she didn't turn away. He simply accepted it, silently giving her permission to see all of him as he lay there. Thom lifted unresponsive limbs, and carefully soaped each, washing it away with a damp cloth before moving on. And afterward came the lotion, unscented and fragrance free, leaving Lincoln's skin supple and soft. She hadn't lifted a finger to help that night, but Lincoln realized now that it had been that very night that marked the turning point.

Not a week later found her doing half the work for Thom, leaving him free to attend other duties. And from there, she had slowly but surely taken over this one little duty. Thom still managed the unsavory task of catheters and diapers. He still managed the bulk of the work, certainly. But when Amelia stayed over, she was the one who bathed Lincoln.

As one hand slid along his arm, making him wish once more that he could feel the rough edge of the washcloth in addition to the faint pressure that was Amelia's hand in his, Lincoln reflected that there had never been anything quite so erotic as this in his life. She was dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and worn jeans, her hair pulled into a messy red tail to keep it out of her eyes as she worked on this. She'd washed her makeup off just a few minutes before coming to give him his bath. And he still found her exquisite.

It wasn't her looks, though she could easily turn the head of nearly any man alive. It was the way she moved, and the way her eyes fastened on something, focused on it with a bright burning that threatened to sear his skin away. He loved it, loved the intelligence behind her eyes as she talked with him, and the way she didn't stilt her words any more, or stunt her brain into the roles she'd always assumed she had to play. She spoke bluntly, she moved fast, and she was his equal. And that was a delicious feeling, knowing he'd finally found the one.

She put his hand down, and he mourned the loss of that faint feeling he'd striven so hard for, as she moved on to his right leg. Standing at the foot of his bed, she presented a different image for him, back-lit by the windows so that her hair formed a sort of fiery halo around her head where the wisps had come free from her tail. Her eyes focused on his body the way he imagined they must on a piece of evidence at a crime scene, and it was a hot feeling, being the center of such a gaze.

For a moment, as he watched the washcloth near his groin, he felt history creeping up on him. He'd bathed with Blaine, showered together amidst laughing touches and slippery teasing, but also bathed, filling their tub with water and stretching out before letting her drape herself atop him, laying together as the water lapped lightly at their bodies. Back then, he'd thought it the height of sensuality, but Amelia's presence in his life now told him that he hadn't had a clue before.

She didn't bathe with him, but the way she touched him, the washcloth sliding slowly over skin, suggested fantasies that she indulged in. And during this one little time, she didn't push him to talk. They each focused on the other. She watched the way the dampness slid over his skin, drying quickly, and he watched the way her hips sometimes canted a bit towards his bed, as though there were something deeper behind her thoughts, some suggestion that she wanted more than a simple bath that night. Sex was a messy business for them, but they'd gotten good at it, and he trusted now, as he hadn't trusted at first, that her attraction to him was a love strong enough to take the strain of the mess.

Another leg done, and she was touching him in his most intimate place, lifting and bathing it softly, watching as he grew somewhat hard in her fingers. Her eyes looked up, catching and holding his with a smoky look, and he realized that she'd planned all this. She'd be bathing him again in a few minutes, but he was clean now, too, and ready for her. She stepped away, tugging her shirt off, and there was nothing beneath. He'd known that, had caught sight of the way her breasts moved as she walked in from the bathroom, and assumed it meant that she was staying the night. Her hands slipped down to her jeans, and if she'd worn underwear beneath them, he couldn't tell by looking.

She was ready for him. Perhaps she'd been ready for him from the moment she'd arrived that evening. He wasn't sure, but it ceased to matter as she padded back to his bed, climbing up to straddle his hips. Her eyes held his as she smiled down at him, and he felt his breath slip away for a long moment. "You're beautiful, Sachs," he whispered, chuckling as she lifted his right hand and placed it against her breast, holding it there. There was nothing but faint pressure, but he squeezed a little, and her smile grew hotter still.

"I love you, Rhyme," she whispered, her hips shifting just a little so that his body fit into hers perfectly, filling her. He could see the moment when he was seated fully inside by the way her eyes changed a little, growing more and more smoky. He liked that moment.

She rocked against him, and he realized belatedly that he'd started talking somewhere along the way, his voice dropped into the bedroom seduction she loved so much. Afterward, he never quite remembered what he said, but she liked the sound more than the words, just as he had come to love the sight more than the faint memories of physical sensation. They kissed, hard, and then she pulled back, giving him a perfect view as she pressed herself to completion. She arched hard, her head thrown back and her breasts jutting out, and then she curled forward slowly, nestling against him as she sighed.

These moments, Lincoln reflected, were the most perfect of all, when there was no killer stalking them, and there was no one in the world but the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for the Lincoln Rhyme fandom, and I know it's not a very popular fandom for fiction, but I doubt it will be my last. I love the books, and the characters, far too much.


End file.
